


In Which Mads And Jeff Are Boyfriends

by extremereader



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, ballerina au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremereader/pseuds/extremereader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just read this G-rated thing I wrote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Mads And Jeff Are Boyfriends

Thomas Jefferson could not believe what he was seeing. James Madison- his friend, his peer, his colleague, his boyfriend- dancing. DANCING. And not just dancing, but doing ballet. The man, seemingly under the impression that he was alone, was dancing like he was born to do it. And he was good. Really good. How could Jefferson not know about this? James’ eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as if he was deep in thought over documents at his desk, as he practically glided over the hardwood floor in his foyer. As Jefferson watched James Madison dancing effortlessly through the window, he could tell how silent the house must be inside. The house didn’t creak and there definitely was no band playing music for him to dance to. There was something about this picture, so peaceful and silent, that Thomas didn’t want to disturb. There was definitely a reason he didn’t want Jefferson to know. So instead of standing there outside of Madison’s home with his chin hanging, Thomas pulled himself together and stood up straight, knocking on the door. Just then, he heard a thud, and knocked louder, trying the door, but to no avail. Madison had locked it, if only he had made sure the drapes were secured. 

As Madison opened the door, barely going in front of it, Jefferson smiled and stepped into the foyer. He greeted James and slowly took in the scene before him. James was holding his own head rather tenderly, clad in an undershirt to his knees with one sleeve pushed up past his elbow, his underbreeches unbuttoned at the knee and rolled up to expose the garters holding his stockings up, and ballet shoes. The carpet that usually dressed the foyer was rolled up and unceremoniously leaned up against a wall. The table at the entrance was overturned and one leg tilting inwards so much that it must have been broken. Madison was blushing, embarrassed at being caught in his underclothes, as he winced whilst poking at his head and moved to sit in a chair in the drawing room, limping slightly. Jefferson quickly caught Madison and picked him up easily, setting him gently onto a daybed with his feet up. Thomas moved to go downstairs to make tea, but James’ eyes stopped him; they were warm and crinkling at the corners as he smiled up at Thomas. It warmed his heart. As Thomas went downstairs to the kitchen, he almost tripped down the stairs. As he regained his breath and slowed his heart, grasping the wooden bannister in one hand and his shirts in another, he looked down to see what had tripped him. Of course it would be one of General Washington’s dogs. Much smaller than the rest and still a pup, James had taken it in and taken care of it until it’s big enough to stay with Washington. Thomas scooped the dog up from the step and continued down. The man had been in that kitchen many times, most of them during the middle of the night with James; James perched on a table, his knees apart with Thomas in between them, as they ate bread and cheese, glass of whiskey in hand. It was peaceful, magical even, candles flickering around them, their faces illuminated by warm light. Thomas could swear that he fell in love with James that night. The way Madison’s eyes lit up, the crinkle in the corners of his eyes, his laugh- Jefferson wanted more, he knew it was improper but it was already improper. In his head, Jefferson could her General Washington talk about the scripture. Thomas shook himself out of the trance he was in, as the pup began to squirm out of his arms. He set the dog down and went to make tea for James. 

Upstairs, James was moving off the daybed. His head was fine, he told himself. His ankle didn’t hurt as much. If he took off the shoes and hid them, maybe Thomas wouldn’t realize and he wouldn’t have to tell him the truth. A secret he’d kept for nearly 20 years would continue to be just that- a secret. One that he couldn’t bear to tell. How would he even tell Thomas? At nearly 25 years old, James Madison loved to dance. Not the waltz, but ballet. Back in France he would frequent the theatre and watch the dancers. Their skill, precision, and when one of the ballerinas goes on pointe and shows her strength Madison would stand and applaud her. He knew back then that is what he wanted to do. But only in France could a man do ballet, and Britain was far from the ways of France. So Madison trained. In secret all these years, in his home, with the door locked and the drapes drawn. He could never tell the world that he danced. Especially in his undergarments. What would they say? What would Washington say? They’d call him a poof, which, while technically accurate, was not what he wanted the world to say about him. He sat on the edge of the daybed, untying his shoes. As he worked the knots out, he slipped off the shoes and wrapped the ribbon around them. His stockings were fairly slippery on the hardwood floor, but he managed to cross the room and place the shoes inside a drawer without slipping. Slowly, he walked back to the daybed and sat down, waiting for Thomas. The man was taking so long, hopefully he was alright. 

Downstairs, Thomas was trying to figure out how to carry a tea tray and the dog up the stairs. When the dog barked, he almost slapped himself. The dog would follow if he told it to. So he picked up the tray and whistled for the dog to follow. He slowly made his way up the stairs, balancing the tray carefully so that nothing spilled. As he walked to James and set the tray down on the nearby table, he immediately noticed James’ bare feet. What had happened to the shoes? He gave the hot cup to James and moved a chair close to the daybed where James was sat, and sat down himself, the dog jumping up onto the daybed so James could pet it. The two drank their tea in silence before Thomas finally got tired of waiting and inquired about the shoes and Madison’s state of undress. Madison, in his underclothes, with sweat on his brow, was beautiful, but Jefferson could barely contain himself to look. It was so scandalous, how close the men sat, one almost completely undressed. But even with the situation and how comfortable the two men were with each other, they still felt a little uneasy. This was mostly to do with the tension surrounding the ballet, Madison not wanting to tell Jefferson and Jefferson not knowing how to tell Madison that he saw him. After a short debate in his head, Madison conceded to tell Jefferson about the shoes. About the dancing. About everything. Jefferson, seemingly biting his tongue, waited for Madison to finish his story. After James finished, Thomas didn’t ask why he kept it a secret- he knew. The world was changing, but not that radically. Men were in plays and danced at balls, but not ballet. But even with everything, Jefferson had succumbed to his thoughts and couldn’t not look at James in his underclothes, nor could he stop thinking about how James looked dancing. He was beautiful. Jefferson must have made his thoughts apparent in his facial features, because Madison inquired about it and Jefferson knew he couldn’t lie to him, so he told him. Everything. His thoughts, how he had seen, how beautiful Madison was, how he wanted to see the shoes. 

Madison stood up from the daybed and walked to the chest of drawers across the room. His face was red with embarrassment as he reached into the drawer and pulled out two pairs of ballet shoes: plain flats in a light pink color- the pair Jefferson had seen him wearing earlier- and a pair of white pointe shoes so worn that the white was off color in the toes. Both pairs looked worn, like they had holes in the toes. Madison turned around, clutching the shoes to his chest and walked back to Jefferson, dropping them unceremoniously at the man’s feet. Eyes glassing over as he thought of Jefferson not wanting anything to do with him after tonight because of the dancing, Madison sat back down on the daybed. Jefferson, with kindness in his eyes, picked up the shoes, turning them over in his hands, examining the way that they were worn- the ballet flats at the heels and balls, the pointe shoes at the toes. The shoes were old and worn but they were loved and taken care of. Jefferson carefully unwrapped the ribbon from around the flats. He picked up Madison’s feet and slowly put the shoes on him and smiled. Madison leaned down to tie them, but Jefferson stopped him, grasping at his undershirt and pulling him into a kiss. When the two men separated, Madison leaned down, tying the shoes up. He stood, smiling, knowing that Jefferson would not say anything- Madison’s secret was safe with him. Jefferson stood, from how close they were, his height was exaggerated. Jefferson, at nearly a foot taller than Madison, had to look down into the man’s eyes. And then, taking Madison’s hand in his own, they danced in a circle around the drawing room.


End file.
